Sweet Reunion
by LadySkarlettofSkaro
Summary: If he could disappear, he would, for he felt so exposed and embarrassed, coming here in hopes of seeing his lover, but instead, receiving nothing in return. After not hearing anything for weeks- months- from his lover, from both family and the army, he could finally come to terms with the death of the love of his life. USUK


**Yes it has been a long time since I've written anything, and yes, I sorta died for what, six months? But this right here is to say that I am officially back in business! I have school work and whatnot to attend to, but hey- on the bright side, I'm getting things done for college and whatnot! Junior year is tougher than I thought it would be**

**So, this right here is a late present to a great friend of mine, CartoonCouples101! ^^ We've been RPing for a year now, and her birthday was earlier in the week (the 12th if I'm not mistaken) and she's an awesome friend and writer and you should just go check her out! We have RPed one story together and are in the process of two more, and she's been a great mentor and friend in the year that I've known her, and I hope to get to know her better uwu**

**But without further ado, and without any ownership of anything but the plot, here is my story :)**

**Enjoy! And Happy Birthday, CC101! 3**

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Arthur had dressed in a white button-down shirt beneath a green sweater vest, with tan khakis and dress shoes worn from being used, his hands curled into fists and his nerves wracked with worry. He didn't know how long he stood by the entrance to the C gates, tapping his foot and pacing back and forth in wait for the plane that would soon land. He had finished the cheap-tasting, bitter tea from a coffee shop nearby, and his patience was starting to wear thin. From standing to sitting to pacing to sitting once more, it was near impossible for the usually composed Brit to calm down.

At the same time his lover had made his decision to go into the army, they had met at the library, both students in the same university. Arthur was studying abroad from England when he met the geeky science nerd. He was sweet and romantic and smart and kind, and he made him feel the most comfortable. Yes, he was loud and excited and a bit obnoxious, but it was something that the Briton got used to, and something that he adored just as much as anything else.

Allowing him to leave- with the bright happy smile and the sparkling blue eyes and the dorky behavior whenever he talked about one of his passions- was one of the hardest things for both of them to do. Arthur would have preferred him to stay in bed with him so they could cuddle and kiss and simply enjoy one another. However, it was going to be okay, because he was going to fight for his nation, for a cause he believed in, so that he and his peers and his enemies and the rest of the world could be at peace and not have to worry about war and bullets and destruction.

The airport eventually became crowded with people: young children with coloring books and toys from their kids meal; toddlers or infants in strollers; teenagers texting in what was seen as a mild manner compared to the speed they might usually be typing and sending messages; moms with tissues in one hand, a coffee in another, and their purse on their arm, some pregnant, some without children, some girlfriends; even a father was located every now and then, carrying a child on his hip or watching his children. No words had to be shared to let then know that they were all there for the same thing: to greet their loved ones and to welcome them back.

In this moment, with the crowd bustling in the same general area and the wait too long to bear patience for, Arthur's mind started to drift off. What if he wasn't one of the men coming home? What if he was injured and in a hospital somewhere and unable to write or speak or breathe? What if death had wrapped around him tightly and suffocated the life out of him, taking him away when he was so young and so innocent and too valuable to be out of this world so soon?

The Englishman didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, as a round of applause erupted from the gates and caught the attention of the families located nearby. The soldiers, in their tan uniforms and their worn boots ornate with dust, strode down the carpeted walkway and to their awaited loved ones. Children had started to run to their fathers and jump into the arms. Husbands pulled their wives into hugs, and girlfriends jumped into the arms of their boyfriends. Arthur, surrounded by tissues and tears, felt awkward as he stood off to the side with no one to welcome back, no one to hug, no one to kiss, no one.

Just as he had expected, Alfred was not there to envelop him in his warm embrace, to kiss away his sorrow, to love him. Arthur always tried to convince himself that everything was alright when, in actuality, it was the opposite. The realization hit him harder than he expected, and it took every ounce of strength hold back the sob that threatened to erupt from his mouth and to break down the titanium barrier that he had built over time. It shielded his emotions from the outside world, and it tore him apart piece by piece when he refused to allow the tears to make their presence known to all. No matter how much his hands or his body or his heart or his very core, the familiar ache was there once more to torment him for the loss of his dearest friend, his dearest person, the individual that completed him.

The Briton gave an awkward turn away from the rest of the reunions and started in the same direction in which he had first arrived, anticipated and excited, whilst he now left, depressed and broken. If he could disappear, he would, for he felt so exposed and embarrassed, coming here in hopes of seeing his lover, but instead, receiving nothing in return. After not hearing anything for weeks- months- from his lover, from both family and the army, he could finally come to terms with the death of the love of his life. His heart shattered into millions of pieces, hundreds of shards broken and sharp and piercing anything in range, for there was no other use of his heart if the one who made it beat was no longer alive with him.

Arthur would never know what it was that caused him to look over his shoulder. Maybe it was the young child that had given a loud scream of joy upon seeing how mother, or the laughter of a girlfriend relieved that the love of her life was unharmed. It might have even been the tiny fragment of hope that he still contained within him, a piece of him that somehow refused to believe his lover was deceased. No matter what it might've been, whether it was his emotions or his own person, he turned his head to gaze at the entrance to the gates, and found his breath leaving his body sharply and his stomach twisting into a taut knot. His heart started to beat faster, and before he knew it, he was pushing his way past families and children and loved ones to his own, before he threw himself into the arms of the handsome American with a broken sob and a mantra of his name, repeating the two syllables repeatedly and without hesitation, nonstop "Alfred, Alfred, Alfred" as the tears retreated down his cheeks and his happiness ascended above and beyond.

"Oh Arthur." The voice was still light and young and airy, and the laugh that followed was quiet and relieved and full of joy and incomprehensible happiness. He was in the same mismatched-colored tan uniform in which he had left in, but he had a scent of medicine and the walls of a hospital clinging to his skin and clothing. The sapphire in his eyes still grasped the spark of youth and wellness and joy, an eternal joie de vivre. His callused hands were just as pleasant to feel and hold as they were since the last time they had seen one another in person. His hair was still a field of wheat, an expanse of gold with the ever-present cowlick that served more purposes than a stubborn strand of hair. The only difference- and what a painful contrast it was to show that time and war contained malice that was harsh enough to damage one permanently- was the black cane made of metal, with a leather handle held tautly in the soldier's palm to help him balance. When Arthur hugged his American, after a period of empty beds and empty hands and lonesome meals, he could feel Alfred's weight practically falling into him, as if it was being combined with his own to end its burden onto the smaller Briton.

Arthur gazed through his tears to admire his soldier more than he already had, a choked laugh full of tears and compressed emotions exited from his mouth. "You still look the same," he whispered in a broken, wobbly voice, unable to stop treading through the golden strands and caressing the youthful face in front of him. The joy clutched his heart like a newborn stretching his fingers out for the first time, holding onto him and never letting go of the beauty located in front of him.

Alfred chuckled quietly, smiling that beam that always brought a similar image to the individual he was conversing with. "So do you," he sighed quietly, his eyes shutting while he pressed his forehead against the smaller male's. "And you still smell like tea leaves and rain."

Laughing quietly in reaction, the smaller male brought Alfred down closer to kiss his lips gingerly. He felt like he was in a dream, as if there was a fantasy viewing of the present-day and he was in the front row. However, seeing the soldier in person, like this, where no one else mattered, was enough to prove that this moment was too amazing, too thrilling, too unbelievable to be a silly dream from his imagination.

Arthur moved away enough to gaze at the cane tightly in Alfred's grasp, and reached out slowly to gingerly run the top of his fingers on the curved handle. Just by looking at the taller male's trembling right hand and the stiff left leg, one could see that it was a struggle for the American soldier to hold himself up. The shorter attempted to examine the injured limb, but he was held back by his lover.

"There was something thrown into our Jeep while we were out," he whispered quietly, and the Briton could see the sadness and utter look of remorse and depression at what he was about to say. "There were six of us. Only two survived and the other guy was unharmed. There was so much shrapnel inside my leg from the knee down that I could either bleed out and die or have it removed."

Arthur was unable to speak, unable to breathe at the statement that exited from Alfred's mouth. His vision spun and his hands retracted into fists and his anger and fury and sadness rose, practically overflowing past its limit. "And you had it removed…"

With a bite of his lip and a sharp inhale of air, the taller nodded his head solemnly. "They put a metal prosthetic to replace it, and…" He trailed off, and his eyes clenched shut tautly to hold back the tears that failed to be restrained. "I-it's just a nub, Arthur, just a stump; a-and it hurt when it blew up and it hurt after they removed it and it hurt when they said I-I have to use th-this thing to help me w-walk a-a-and…"

Arthur, in any other situation, wouldn't have known what to do or how to respond, but this time was an exception. He hesitated slightly, only because he wasn't sure of what to do, but once he saw the streaks on Alfred's face, he simply pulled the soldier into a hug, and suppressed his cries into his shoulder. The American was never a fan of crying- no matter who it was, he hated seeing them brought down so low as to weep about it- but he especially detested it when he was crying. He had told the Englishman how it made him feel ugly, exposed, weak, judged- whether it was in public or by himself. Nevertheless, when he was with his lover, no matter where they were, Alfred didn't allow himself to hold his emotions back. He let them out quietly, his body quaking slightly with the feelings around him and breaking his fragile interior. Arthur didn't say anything in return; he gave him peace and quiet yet comfort and love, all with his silence and embraces and kisses and hums. It was embarrassing enough that someone so self-conscious was showing the very thing that made him feel so exposed. The best thing to do would be to give him the respect and comfort that he deserved, that he always deserved.

The shorter let his fingers card through the golden locks- avoiding the crooked hat so as not to disturb its position- and swayed faintly, just as he would've if it was only the two of them around. Despite the height difference, he kept Alfred close to him, enveloped in his arms, away from the harm of reality. Arthur's quiet hums and his comforting hold and his presence were enough to eventually bring the soldier down to sniffles, and a moment later, Alfred moved away slowly. His head was bowed and he hanged his head, most likely in shame for crying, but the Brit cleared away the water marks with a swipe of his thumb, and he offered a reassuring smile. The American stared back down at him, and gave a small rise of his lips in response. Even though he hadn't finished his sentence, whatever he had to say did not have to be stated and risk another miniature breakdown. Arthur understood what he was saying without the exact words having to be stated. This memory of losing his limbs, of suffering in such a way that it nearly killed him, it made the realization that he was permanently maimed all the more harder to deal with.

Alfred rubbed the hand not holding the cane under his eye with a quiet sigh. "Sorry about that," he gave a quiet chuckle despite the fact that it was forced.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, luv," Arthur smiled faintly.

"I know, I know, it's just…" The American intertwined their hands once again and grinned. "I'd rather it be me than someone else so that they don't have to suffer."

The Briton wouldn't have wanted his lover to be permanently injured in such a way, although to be perfectly honest it was better if no one was harmed at all. However, the events had happened as unfortunate as they were, and it forced more tears to clog his throat and eyes, but a single squeeze from the taller was enough to stop them. It shoved the tears away and it emptied his mind of the negativity that filled it. He felt fresher, relieved, assured. Everything would be alright. They were together and alive and well and they were going to make it.

With Arthur carrying his bag and their hands tautly together as violin strings wound tight for tuning, they made their way to the Nissan the Brit had driven in to get to the airport. It took a few minutes to help Alfred into the car, but he got in the passenger's side nonetheless and buckled himself in whilst his lover put away their belongings into the trunk. When the emerald-eyed blond returned, plopping down in the driver's seat and putting the keys in the ignition, he was interrupted from this when a large hand pressed itself against his back. He turned his head around and grinned at the soldier, the realization that Alfred was back and Alfred was going to stay overwhelmed him to pull away from the steering wheel and to embrace the American, pecking him and hugging him and loving him with everything within him.

"Let's go home now, my dear," Arthur whispered, pulling away to smile at him once more.

The younger gazed at the Englishman with the sapphires in his eyes, and started to laugh. "Oh Arthur. Didn't you know?"

With a small hum, Alfred leaned forward to capture his lips sweetly once more. They stayed like that, paused in time, caught in their own world, before they pulled away and that bright, luminescent smile the American possessed appeared once again.

"With you, I'm always home."


End file.
